


The Roommate

by redwinesheets



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Humor, Romance, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2018-10-29 03:23:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10845459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redwinesheets/pseuds/redwinesheets
Summary: Hermione needs a place to stay and she is forced to move into 12 Grimmauld Place with Sirius for the summer. It could be the sizzle, but it's nothing but arguments between the two at first. How much are they willing to put up with before the heat finally catches up?





	1. Depart from Shell Cottage

A shoe flew past Sirius’ face, followed closely by a book. It was not the first time he’d dodged items thrown at his face, but he knew he didn’t deserve it this time. 

“Hermione, even headhunters shine a red laser before they fire. Why the ballistics?” he asked the brunette who was packing her things in a frenzy. Boxes floated about the room, all filled with items. A purring Crookshanks sat on the bed, stretched out on a rust-coloured cardigan. Obviously he couldn’t be less interested in what was going on around him. 

“Fleur’s mother is coming to stay with her and Bill to visit the children. She said she’s already missed their birth and wasn’t about to miss another chance to spend time with them,” Hermione explained. She chucked a folded pile of clothes into one of the boxes, charming it to sort itself out and to seal itself closed. “So where will you stay?” Sirius asked. 

To be perfectly honest, Hermione had no clue. She had just spent the summer living at Shell Cottage with Bill and Fleur, working on a paper for the Muggle Relations department for the Ministry. She gave up her flat in the city and just took off to the warm beachside town Bill and Fleur were living in for some much needed peace and quiet. They took her in, giving her room and board in exchange for babysitting and housekeeping while they both went to work. It had been a blissful summer, writing or researching around looking after the children from the crack of dawn to mid-afternoon when their parents would come home and she could go for a swim in the ocean or work on her tan. 

But now that she’d finished her paper and Fleur’s mother was coming to stay, se knew she couldn’t impose on Bill and Fleur’s generosity any longer. Now she was packing her things like a crazy person but still didn’t know where on earth she was going to stay. 

“Probably a hostel in town?” she absentmindedly replied, appraising a blue skirt for the charity bag she had set up in the corner. Sirius had to step in. There was no way he was going to let her stay among strangers in a hostel when he had rooms that were echoing in silence at 12 Grimmauld Place. 

“No you aren’t. I’ve more than enough room at home and I’m sure Kreacher will appreciate cooking for two people instead of just one,” Sirius said, taking the skirt from Hermione to try and get her attention before she threw something else at him. 

“Wouldn’t a lady living at yours cramp your freewheeling ways?” she asked, finally looking up from what she was doing and reaching for the skirt. 

Even Sirius was surprised at the blush that unexpectedly crept up his face. Yes, he was far from living like a monk but he thought he had been more well-mannered about that. “I wouldn’t call it freewheeling,” he mumbled. 

“Debauched. Loose. Immoral. I have a heap of words for that, but let’s just pick one for today yeah?” Hermione grinned. 

The blush on his ears intensified. “Do you want to stay with me or not?” He asked. 

Hermione sat back and thought about it for a moment. Living with Sirius meant shacking up with one of the Wizarding world’s most eligible bachelors. After two and a half months of living a G-rated life, she wondered if she could survive the shift to Sirius’ more adult lifestyle. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad; she certainly had been living like a rather studious nun – she could use the shake up. 

“If you’re sure Kreacher wouldn’t mind the intrusion…”she began. 

“He’ll be more than happy to have you there. As will I, by the way,” Sirius added as an afterthought. 

Hermione had caved. She desperately needed a place to stay, and well, it would be nice to have company that stood taller than her kneecaps. 

“Um, Kreacher just barely skims the tops of yours but I can see what you mean,” Sirius chuckled. 

“Oh gods did I say that out loud?” Hermioned gasped. Sirius’ laugh became an all-out guffaw. “Somehow I think you need to start finding people to listen to you. The poor kids must think you’re out of your tree, you talking to yourself like that.” 

“It’s not as bad as that,” Hermione said, ducking her head down in embarrassment. But maybe Sirius was right, she needed company that could at least talk coherently back to her. 

“So have I got a flatmate then?” Sirius grinned. Hermione threw her hands up. “Why not? It’ll be a nice change in scenery I guess,” she said. 

“Brilliant. So why don’t I Apparate these…” Sirius began, waving his wand at some of the packed boxes and disappearing them. “…back home, and you can follow with the rest. I’ll get Kreacher to start unpacking these for you.”

“Hang on, what about rent? And ground rules? Sirius!” Hermione said, blocking another stack of boxes his wand was pointed at. 

Sirius had the gall to snicker at her. “You’re such a Muggle sometimes. We’ll sort out ‘rent’ when we get there. And as for ground rules, you can think of some as you’re packing. I only have two,” he said. 

Cocking her hip out and crossing her arms in front of her, Hermione said, “Go on then.”

“First, keep monthly time to yourself and that includes getting rid of all proof that it actually exists. And second, if you’re walking around in your undercrackers you had better be walking into my bedroom,” Sirius said, dead serious about them both. 

“Sorry, what now?” Hermione asked, not sure if she heard him correctly. “I’m not joking. I can’t take you seriouslyl if I see you in your underwear.” Sirius explained, shrugging one shoulder

“How does that even begin to make sense?” she asked, still confused. Sirius coloured again. “Look at it this way. Save for a very happily-attached Ginny, you’re probably the only female friend I have who isn’t Luna or Tonks. And I don’t sleep with my friends or see them as a possible lay. So if I see you walking about in your underwear…” 

“It kind of blurs the line,” she finished. “That’s fair. I am way above friends with benefits,” she said, after a moment’s thought. 

And there was the lie of the year. Her stomach had jumped when he mentioned walking around in her unmentionables. Spending the entire summer living with three well-meaning but verbally challenged children and his baby brained parents must be starting to fray at her nerves because the image he had conjured up had her insides humming. She had always had a crush on Sirius, from the moment she had seen him again after her graduation from Hogwarts. Now she was going to live with him, right after he outlined a clear boundary that was so damned tempting to cross. 

Not above friends with benefits my ass, Hermione snorted to herself. This sure could get interesting. 

“My clothes stay on, and the only inkling you’ll have of that time of the month is when I’ll start breaking a chocolate bar into my muesli. Sounds fair,” she huffed back at him, feigning total indifference. 

“And to be fair to me, I get to wait until you are well and moved in before you tell me your ground rules,” Sirius smiled, moving to Apparate more boxes home. 

Hermione just smiled, brushing his teasing off. “Deal. I’ll see you at home roomie.”


	2. Good morning

Sunlight streamed in from between the heavy velvet curtains on Hermione’s four-poster bed. The gap between also revealed a pair of slightly hairy ears just visible over the mountain of pillows Hermione had kicked to the foot of the bed. 

“Miss? Is Miss awake?” a creaky voice like a rusty hinged asked. 

“Just barely Kreacher. Good morning,” the brunette mumbled, extricating herself from beneath the sheets. The silk felt warm against her skin, and her hair made the pillows crackle with static electricity. 

“Master Sirius would like you to join him for breakfast,” Kreacher said, parting the curtains and rustling through Hermione’s closet. 

She let out a yawn and swung her feet over the edge of the bed. The thick carpet felt delicious against her soles and she wanted to sink right in, but breakfast called and so did her rumbling stomach. She was distracted however, by the house elf making free with her wardrobe, laying clothes out on a chair. 

“Kreacher, it’s alright. I can dress myself for breakfast,” she said, putting a hand on Kreacher’s shoulder to stop him. His ears twitched up at her. “As you wish miss. But Master Black requests that you honour your agreement and dress appropriately for breakfast,” Kreacher said before bowing out of the room. 

Sirius and his blasted rule. It’s been a good day, a whole 24 hours since he had agreed to let her stay at 12 Grimmauld Place and he was already making sure his one and only house rule was being followed. Still, it was more than fair for letting her live there practically rent-free, with just a few Galleons every week for shared necessities. 

She made her way to the open wardrobe, where her things had been neatly put away and picked out a clean pair of jeans and a shirt. Never mind shoes, those would have to wait for later. 

Sirius was already on his second piece of toast when Hermione came down the stairs. She was in jeans and a shirt, bare feet and rumpled hair. To most, she would have been the perfect image of a freshly-woken female, still mussed from last night and none too fresh. She was probably grumpy too. So if she was this unpleasant, why on earth did she appear to be so damned tasty?

Who was he kidding, even fully clothed she was a dream to look at. He’d always known she was attractive, but that was much after he had discovered what fun she was to be around and talk to. It was a dangerous combination, at least to Sirius. He preferred his women vapid and shallow, but those were exactly the things she was not. 

She was the best of both worlds, he had long come to conclude. 

It was just damned lucky he was bored and had come out to Shell Cottage for a visit to the seaside and that she just happened to need a new place to stay. Bill and Fleur were happy to see him, as was the baby but when they mentioned that Hermione was upstairs packing up her room he was up like a shot. At first he was reluctant to enter, especially after her shoe nearly clipped him in the face. But when he poked his head in to have a look, the sight floored him. Brown hair turned light from the sun, a healthy glowing tan and a figure that gave away daily swims and a healthy appetite – everything combined was a sight to behold. 

He’d made up that stupid underwear rule mainly to stop himself from even thinking of going there. She was much younger than himself for starters, and wouldn’t that just be the hiding of a lifetime if Ron, Harry or Mrs Weasley found out? No, he needed to keep the boundaries firmly in place, but he still wanted her close enough to enjoy her company. 

But he was Sirius Black – perhaps if he applied himself he could coax her over that line he’d so firmly planted between them. Then if she did come to him, it would be fair, fair game. 

“Morning Granger. Breakfast?” Sirius asked, pulling a chair out for her. She sat, and pulled her plate closer. Breakfast was a delicious spread of muesli, fruit and crumpets. Pots of coffee and tea sat steaming on the end, both with the matching Black crest. 

“And good bloody morning to you too Sirius,” she said, taking crumpets and the little pot of jam. He chuckled. Oh how he loved cranky women in the morning. They were just far too much fun to tease and prick sometimes. 

“What have you got planned for today?” Sirius asked. Hermione spread some jam on a piece of toast and bit into it, all the while looking over at Sirius. “I’m technically still on sabbatical at the moment, so I suppose nothing really. I don’t have to be back at work for at least a week yet,” she said. 

“Great!” he said, tilting his chair back and slapping the table. “As soon as you’re fed and caffeinated you and I are going to sort this house out. I don’t trust Kreacher not to hurt himself helping, so!” he began. He tossed a mandarin into the air and caught it. “You and I are going to put a skylight in the foyer and a proper chandelier in the dining hall. It’s been ages since my mother passed on to the hereafter, so why should we live in doom and gloom?” he said. 

“Sirius, I don’t know the first thing about building anything!” Hermione exclaimed. 

“That’s where you come in. You read the instruction manuals, I’ll handle the tools. Hurry up, we need to pick stuff out,” Sirius said, tapping the back of her chair as he passed behind her to get cleaned up. Hermione just leaned back and held her coffee cup closer, trying to inhale the fumes. Sirius must be out of his mind, what the hell does he know about building anything, she thought to herself. 

“Sirius, I really don’t think this is a good idea. Why can’t you just hire a builder to do it for you? What if you break something? Saint Mungo’s can only take so much crazy in a day!” she called out, to nothing in particular. 

“I have to get my hands dirty doing something!” was the only answer she got, yelled from upstairs. A jolt went straight through her when she put that sentence together. The builder fantasy was not lost on her, especially when she pictured Sirius emerging from some scaffolding wiping sweat off his forehead whilst in suspenders and trousers…

Oh dear god, when had she started turning into her mother? The most that she could hope to happen was that he would accidentally catch his thumb instead of a nail head. But being Sirius, he would probably accidentally saw through an appendage and then Saint Mungo’s really would have a field day with them. 

She took one more long sip of her coffee and sighed, putting her mug down. Obviously her summer was far away from over, and she knew that things could only get interesting from here.


	3. Ice cream and regret

“You’re such a bore, you know that right?” Sirius groaned as Hermione kept a firm grip on his arm. They were walking through Diagon Alley, shortly after they had finished breakfast. Hermione was determined to dissuade Sirius from his building project; Sirius just thought she didn’t want to get her hands dirty. 

It was a beautiful day to be outdoors. The sun was out and it was warming her through her clothes. She’d chosen a loose-fitting tunic over some black denim cut-offs so she could feel a light breeze playing with her legs. Sirius looked sulky and brooding in a grey shirt and jeans, but still delicious. Diagon Alley was full of people out doing their shopping, from families purchasing school supplies to young lovers strolling. Summer was in full swing, and the last thing she wanted to do was argue. 

“You can do most of the work from the ground, you don’t need to climb on anything. I’ll even let you boss me around!” he said, trying to steer them into a building supplies store. Hermione saw right through him. She would not be browbeaten like this. “It’s not so much that. I don’t see why you suddenly have the urge to redecorate!” she said. She yanked him gently back onto the main street and kept walking. 

Truth be told, neither could Sirius. He had been seated at the dining room table waiting for Hermione to come down for breakfast and he was thinking of excuses for them to do something together. He knew Hermione wasn’t into the fluffy, lovey-dovey stuff, so he jumped across the board and went for the exact opposite. Building something was the manliest thing he could think of. It was probably the most stupid as well.

Lord help him. She looked scrumptious seated across him at breakfast this morning, and all rational thought was thrown out like yesterday’s coffee grounds. 

Stupid Sirius, stupid. You are such a twit for even thinking that. What the hell do you know about electricity and wiring? He thought to himself, mentally giving his own shins a good, solid kick. 

“I don’t know, maybe Grimmauld Place is starting to grow on me. With the right fabric, even my mother’s portrait might begin to look a little homey…” he said, mustering a cheeky grin. Thank goodness for the big aviator shades he wore; hopefully Hermione wouldn’t see it in his eyes that he didn’t have a clue what he was doing. 

“Yes, and I have thought of Professor Dumbledore naked while in the bath. Give it up Sirius, let’s just do something else,” Hermione said. As soon as she felt the muscles in his arm relax, she loosened her grip. She let him resume a regular walking pace instead of pulling him away from the shops.

“If you agree that we should at least throw out Mother’s old chandelier and put in a new one, then you can plan the great big summer’s end party we’re throwing before everyone has to go back to Hogwarts,” Sirius said. 

Her ears had pricked up at this. She did love planning get-togethers, and it sounded like a great idea. She had been working hard all summer on her report and looking after Bill and Fleur’s offspring; it was high time she had some adult fun.

“I can see it in your face Hermione, you’re going to say yes,” Sirius said, his grin getting even bigger. She broke and nudged him with her shoulder. “Some would call that coercion,” she said, teasing him with a smile. 

“Come on Hermione, it’ll be fun. I’ve been meaning to do it for ages. It’ll be something new,” he pleaded, now sounding like a child asking for lollies. 

“Let’s go for ice cream, then we’ll talk about it,” Hermione sighed, her one last hold on him before she caved. 

\-----

“Why do they call it hot fudge? By the time it hits the ice cream it’s too solid to run and then you just get a blob of chocolate that isn’t going anywhere,” Sirius said, poking at the congealed fudge topping on his white chocolate and macadamia ice cream. Hermione smiled and shook her head. “You’re the only one I can think of who can see something wrong with dessert,” she said. Her own Bailey’s and rum raisin was absolutely divine, made better with a golden sprinkling of honeycomb. 

“There’s nothing wrong with it, I’m just saying. If you call it hot fudge then it had better well be hot!” Sirius said. He jabbed at the offending treat with a spoon and stuck it in his mouth. “Nice to know that there are people who think about these pressing things,” Hermione chuckled, amused by the frown on his face. 

“Are you going to be this pissy when we put in that chandelier, or shall we get a real man to do the work?” she sweetly asked, taking another spoonful of her ice cream. Her teeth crunched on some honeycomb while she waited for him to answer. 

At the mention of putting in the chandelier, his face lit up. “So we’re really doing this aren’t we?” he said. 

“I suppose we could try to put one in. It shouldn’t be that difficult, loosen a few bolts here and there, put in some new ones…” she said. 

“You make it sound so easy.” 

“Which is why I’m going to do it, and you plan the party Sirius. My condition.” 

Now that got his attention. “I don’t believe I’m following you.” 

“Simple enough. I install this blasted chandelier you’re so keen on, while you plan the end-of-summer party you suggested. You said you wanted to do something new,” she said, leaning back in her chair. She hadn’t even thought about it, it had just come spilling out. Genius Granger, way to put a spin on things! She mentally told herself. 

Sirius studied her. “So you want me to sit around organising a party, while you mess around with my tools installing a chandelier that’s bigger than you?” 

“Hasn’t it filtered in yet? I’m surprised, it took me once to explain to you how Blu-ray worked,” she smiled, enjoying this. She’d always enjoyed bantering with him, but it always left her heated and wanting more. This time she had the upper hand, and it was great watching him squirm. 

“You can’t criticise. No butting in to tell me I ordered the wrong shade of pink for the serviettes,” he said, shaking his spoon at her. 

“Deal. The same goes for you. I am perfectly capable of putting in a chandelier without you telling me I’m using the wrong screws. And pink serviettes are for sweet sixteen’s, or is that just wishful thinking?” she asked. 

He couldn’t be serious anymore, so he dabbed his spoon against her nose, leaving a smear of ice cream across her face. “That’s for calling me a girl. We’ll see who’s laughing after you land yourself in St Mungo’s,” he said. 

“Who says it’s going to be me?”


	4. A visitor

12 Grimmauld Place certainly was an interesting place in these days, helped particularly by two of the three inhabitants. One of them was firmly ensconced in their study with a stunning specimen of man.

Perched on Sirius’ desk, looking like bored royalty, was events organiser extraordinaire Blaise Zabini. Blaise certainly was immune to the passage of time, growing even more ridiculously handsome and outrageous from his Hogwarts years. He had settled into his finely-sculpted features and used them to carve a perfect niche for himself. Once he’d finished with Hogwarts, Blaise had attended a Muggle university in events management, and since enjoyed a fantastic career organising the most illustrious parties in London. 

Even back at Hogwarts he had been known as an infamous libertine, seducing male and female alike. The only traits more famous than his parties were his many, many affairs. It was as if he was trying to sleep his way through his thick address book, one high-profile client at a time.

In a moment that Hermione had called a brief aneurysm, Sirius had booked an appointment with him to arrange table settings and for catering. Strange that he didn’t ask Blaise’s help for any of the decorations. 

It was like looking into a scene from the Great Gatsby: two bored members of the upper echelons of society lazily discussing their next big to-do. Sirius was deadly attractive in a linen shirt and slightly fitted jeans. He was seated on his desk’s surface speaking to Blaise, who was a vision in a navy blue shirt and a tie. Both men had their heads bowed over a menu list, going over appetisers and mains. 

“Mr Black, I can combine the salmon rissoles and the hummus bread starters with the coq au vin main…”Blaise started when Sirius cut in. 

“Swap the hummus bread for the teriyaki beef sushi and I think we have dinner.”

This had Blaise slowly raising his head with a look of distaste on his face. He would rather shave with a pair of scissors than allow such a tacky approach to one of his dinners.   
“I think adding beef sushi is a mite over your budget Mr Black, it would be smart to stick to the hummus bread…”he began. 

“Don’t worry about the budget, I detest hummus,” Sirius said, not even looking up from the papers in his hand. Hermione saw Blaise roll his eyes and scratch out an item on his list with his elegant owl feather quill. If Sirius Black hadn’t come from such an old Pureblood family, he would have stormed out a long time ago. It didn’t help either that the older man was the sexiest being he had seen in a long, long time.

“Mr Zabini…”

“Blaise, please Mr Black. Mr Zabini is one of mother’s many ex husbands and I like to keep the distinction between him and myself firmly in place,” Blaise said in a low purr. 

“Fine then, Blaise. Keep the cutlery and flatware as simple as possible, I don’t want them to clash with the decorating,” Sirius said. He was slightly affronted when Sirius didn’t seem to react.

“Could do, although if I may ask Mr Black, who is doing the decorations?” 

“Miss Granger is installing the chandelier outside, and I will be handling the rest. I will be supplying the wine and glasses, but I do need someone to pour them out. “ Sirius answered. 

“Miss Granger…Hermione Granger?” Blaise asked. That bushy-haired little swot was shacking up with him? 

“Yes, she is living here indefinitely. Can I get you to hire someone to pour drinks or shall I ask Kreacher?” Sirius answered, almost a little too indifferently. It was almost as if he didn’t want to discuss the implication of having her under his roof. 

“Ah. I can get someone, but they are paid on an hourly basis if you wish me to factor that in,” Blaise replied, shuffling more papers around the desk. 

“As long as they recognise a merlot from their ass then you can hire a garden gnome for all I care,” Sirius said. 

\---------

On the other side of the office door was Hermione, seated on the ballroom floor. She was trying to make sense of the manual that came with the chandelier. She was surrounded by bolts, nuts and screws and couldn’t make top or end of anything. 

She wasn’t very good at admitting defeat, but this was pushing her rather close. She had always depended on magic for these sorts of things, but that would be conceding to her left-handedness with a screwdriver. No, what she wanted to do was prove she wasn’t just book smart. She could be just as handy as anybody and didn’t need a magic wand to do it. 

She consulted the manual levitating in front her. All the diagrammes even looked the same. She could feel the unfamiliar rise of panic in her chest as she realised she was absolutely clueless. The extent of her handiness sans magic was the ability to change a light bulb and reset the circuit breaker.

Even more unsettling were the snatches of conversation coming out of Sirius’ study. It sounded like he knew exactly what he was dong. Salmon rissoles? Coq au vin? It was like listening to a very masculine Nigella Lawson effortlessly putting together a cosy sit-down dinner. 

If Nigella Lawson was six foot three and devastatingly handsome of course. 

It figures, she snorted to herself. Rich boy with all his rich boy parties. 

“Hermione Granger?” 

She could hear the surprise in Blaise’s voice when she heard Sirius tell him she was living there. The outrageous man-slut of Slytherin turned party planner. Even she knew about his legend back in the day. He had never given her a second glance when they had been at Hogwarts, but that was all right. Hermione had long suspected he was exclusively into men, but being the entrepreneur he was, didn’t want to exclude fifty per cent of his possible clientele. 

While she was twiddling with all the bits and pieces in front of her, she hadn’t realised Blaise was standing behind her, watching. 

“I’d always known you had a pair in there. I just didn’t know you’d stolen them from Bob the Builder,” he said. Even she had to smile at that. While they had never been romantically involved, she had always been amused by his acerbic wit and sharp sense of humour. He wasn’t mean by default; he was just so out there that everyone else was boring by comparison. 

“And here I thought being on my hands and knees was doing it for you Blaise. How goes the party planning?” Hermione asked, swatting the hovering manual away for a moment. It flitted off to inspect the fireplace for a moment. 

He sighed theatrically and wandered over. “The man has impeccable taste in everything else but dinner menus. Beef sushi with salmon rissoles. What on earth could he be thinking?” 

Hermione had to tamp down a laugh. She had no idea what the fuss was about, but in his world it must have been frightfully tacky. “I’m sure he knows what he’s doing, I’ve learned to just leave him to it” she said. 

Blaise turned sharply on his heel to face her. “And you know this how?” he asked, a discreetly tweezed eyebrow raised. 

She coloured. “Well, I have known him for a while. Plus I live here. So you know, draw your own conclusion?” she fumbled. That didn’t help the situation at all, she might have given up more than was necessary. 

If he picked up on her nerves he didn’t let it show. “What on earth are you doing living hereanyway?”

“I needed a place to stay and he offered,” Hermione said, carefully guarding her responses. He might not be a mean person but that didn’t mean he wasn’t conniving. 

Blaise had been facing her, but now he walked straight at her. His movement reminded her of a fluid and graceful raven, but nothing so harmless. 

“If you say so. Normally I wouldn’t even need to speak to you about this, that I fully intend to have my way with Mr Black,” he said, as nonchalantly as if he were stating that he liked smooth peanut butter over crunchy. 

Her eyes bugged out, but he went on. “But I suppose your brilliant mind would have figured out this conversation is strictly recon, to see if you were wanting to have at him yourself.”

She didn’t even know what to say. Of course she wanted Sirius. She had been in a state of heated arousal ever since that afternoon they had ice cream. She could picture his tongue flicking over her skin the way it did over his white chocolate macadamia ice cream.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that. Surely you already know that I like my partners rich and male,” he said, puffing up like an annoyed peacock. 

“Yes, I did know that. But I didn’t think you needed my permission…”Hermione began when she was cut off by his laughter. 

“You’re adorable Granger. I can see why Weasley liked you so much. I’m not asking your permission. I’m just letting you know that you now have an unbeaten opponent for Sirius’ affections,” he said, an amused smirk crossing his face. He had picked up his briefcase and coat and was just about to leave the room when he turned back to face a blushing Hermione. 

“And don’t think your intelligence will win you this one Granger. We know very well you were never the physical type,” he smirked, before tipping his hat at her and striding out the door.


	5. Capable

"Tell me what happened again."

"You're going to laugh."

"Only a little, I promise."

Hermione huffed, and a lock of hair went flying off her face. "I tried to use a starry-point screwdriver..."

"Phillips," Sirius interrupted, the very faintest of grins lifting the corners of his mouth. Hermione felt the mischief bubbling underneath the surface, but decided not to let it take over just yet. 

She glared at him. "I tried to use the Phillips screwdriver, but I didn't see the flat slot," she said, looking to stare at her shoes. 

Her hand was wrapped in a napkin, scarlet blooming out of the fabric over the palm of her hand. Physical pain was easy enough to brush off. It was Sirius' sanctimonious air of I-told-you-so that she couldn't seem to take.

The long and short of it was, the screwdriver had slipped out of the hole and straight into her palm as she was putting together that behemoth of a chandelier in the ballroom. She had finally sorted out where the missing bits and bobs were meant to go, and was just a few screws away from a complete fixture. 

A few screws away, but no bloody cigar, she thought. Sirius had been minimally helpful. After wrapping up her hand in the napkin, he Floo'd them straight into St Mungo's, where they were now seated in the emergency room. It was embarrassing enough that she had to be hustled into the emergency rooms like a damsel in distress. It was worse that Sirius could barely stop laughing as he explained what had happened. There wasn't much to do in there except wait, among the minor accidents that didn't need immediate attention. 

A young woman was seated next to Hermione, quietly weeping into a tartan handkerchief. Her entire face was covered in feathers, and she let out a little hoot when she exhaled. Across Sirius, a young man had dragged himself through the door, stuck arse-first into a cauldron followed by his flustered mother. Next to them, Hermione almost stopped feeling sorry for herself. 

"But for all intents and purposes Miss Granger, I think you did very well for yourself, putting together that thing. I honestly thought I would have to send Kreacher in for reinforcements, but you seemed to have done all right," Sirius said, patting her shoulder. 

"Plus we'll have a fantastic story to tell our guests. It's shaping up to be a very good party indeed!" 

Hermione turned her head and looked at him. "Are you seriously going to tell other people about this?", she quietly asked. 

Sirius knew that he'd said something wrong. You don't spend a lifetime playing Casanova without learning a thing or two about women. 

"...yes?"

"You are fucking unbelievable Sirius Black. This is not funny. This," she said, shoving her bloody hand under his nose "...is not a story you trot out at a party with our friends. I may not know how to use a screwdriver, and I am quite frankly surprised that the chandelier has not fallen on anybody yet. So if that's what you wanted to hear, there it is. But it is not fucking funny!" Hermione snapped. 

What he did next was unthinkable. Sirius burst out laughing, in the gasping, can't feel my sides way. He howled, slapping his knee. All the patients in the room were glowering at him now. The feather-covered lady next to Hermione let out a deep hoot, staring at him from over her handkerchief. 

"Sir, I'm going to need you to be quieter," a nurse said to him from her desk at the entrance. "Can't...stop...chandelier..."Sirius, howled, tears streaming down his face.

The nurse was not amused. She scribbled quickly on a piece of paper and shoved it at Hermione. "Miss, I'm afraid but you have to leave. Your companion is disturbing our patients. If you take this to the Muggle hospital across town, they will treat you. And while you're at it, you might want to rethink your relationship with this man. I hear the psychiatric ward has a few beds free this time of year."

Hermione couldn't believe it. How could she, a respected academic, go from sabbatical to being shown out of St Mungo's emergency room? 

"Thank you ma'am," was all she muttered out as she made her way out the door, Sirius behind her. 

She managed a few steps away from him before he finally caught his breath. "Hermione. Hey, Hermione!" He said, coming up to walk beside her. "We don't need to be here, we can just clean it up and bandage it and..."

"And nothing Sirius Black! I am going to the Muggle hospital to get this treated and I am going to get a backup tetanus shot. You are going to go home and leave me the fuck alone!" She snapped, turning around to fume in his face. That got his attention. Sirius knew she wasn't just annoyed at him anymore. 

"This isn't a big deal. Accidents happen all the time Hermione, you are allowed to have them. Yes, it's embarrassing that the great Hermione Granger can't use a screwdriver. But it makes you look human next to us, and that's great," he said. 

Hermione's shoulders just slumped as she shook her head. "You are being incredibly patronising Sirius. I don't even know what to say to you anymore. I don't even know why we're having this damn party in the first place," she said, before disappearing in a puff. 

It would have been comical to finish the conversation like that, but Sirius knew that this was a fault he could not fix with flowers and wine. Patronising, she had said. All he wanted to do was poke fun at her and reassure himself that she wasn't perfect. 

Like that was easy to do. 

The last few weeks had been wearing hard on him and his self-control. Every day that she walked down from her room, every night that she spent reading in the big chair was a test. He tried to ignore the way her hair fluffed up when she woke, so reminiscent of what a thoroughly-debauched woman looks like. He tried to ignore the little motions her lips made when she was absorbed in a book. They reminded him of little kisses and how they might feel against his skin. 

But most of all, he could no longer ignore how her wit so easily matched his own. He'd always thought himself a clever man, mincing words with incomparable skill. But to Hermione, that came as naturally to her as breathing. She knew just what to say to him to set his teeth on the edge or to split his side laughing. He had never been so challenged mentally before, and certainly not from any of his former housemates. 

As he made his way home, Sirius found himself contemplating how he was going to apologise. It wasn't going to be easy; every word she had said was right. A woman like her would never take well to being laughed at, much less spoken down to. He should have known better than to prick at her wounded pride like that. 

\-----------

When Hermione finally made it home that night, she was in a mood that made a dragon look cuddly. She had just spent hours at the Muggle hospital waiting room to be attended to. It would have taken St Mungo's seconds to repair the wound, but alas, Muggle medicine had not quite caught up. Her tetanus shot had not been fun either, so all she wanted to do now was make a cup of tea and have it in bed. 

Crookshanks appeared at the foyer, meowing for his supper and. The ginger cat may have gotten older, but he hadn't lost his penchant for being extremely vocal about what he wanted. She knew she had to act quickly, or risk a fresh scratching on her legs. 

"Hush, fuzzbutt. I'm not going anywhere," she muttered, more to herself than the cat. Crookshanks wove himself around her ankles before leading the way into the kitchen. Hermione went through the motions of putting food and water into his dishes before putting on the kettle on to boil for herself. 

Chamomile for a hurt stomach, peppermint for a hurt pride, her mother used to say to her. Hermione reached for the container of peppermint tea and dropped the little teabag into her mug. The hum of the wind through the chimney, and the happy purring sound Crookshanks was making helped soothe her a little bit. 

She could take Sirius poking fun at her all the time. She could even understand that he was actually doing better than she was at planning this party. But what she couldn't take, was being made fun of. 

She hated being bullied for most of her time at school. It wasn't that she chose to be clever and bookish; a childhood with no siblings and busy parents decided that for her. What's more, she found a solace in books that no living person had come close to providing. It hadn't come easy, being this successful. Hours and hours spent in the library when everyone else was at a party cemented her image as the bookworm know-it-all who talked like she swallowed the dictionary. 

At least her work as an academic allowed her some respect. She had worked hard to get where she was, and for once in her life, she felt like she was right where she belonged. It didn't matter anymore that she spent most of her time reading or studying; it simply meant that she didn't have to justify it to anyone anymore. 

Her bed was already turned down and warming up. Kreacher insisted on doing this for her, despite her protests that she could do it herself. The house elf treated her with the utmost respect, never having forgotten that she was the first to be kind to him. 

For tonight however, she was too upset to be embarrassed. She changed into her pyjamas and slid beneath the warmed sheets, propping herself up against the pillows. With her cup of tea in hand, she nursed her fuming hurt in silence.

\---------

About an hour later, well after the tea was gone, Hermione heard a soft knock at the door. Kreacher normally let himself in, so Hermione had to haul herself out of bed to check. Funny, last I checked Crookshanks hadn't grown opposable thumbs, she thought. 

Sirius was on the other side. Her first instinct was to shut the door in his face, but her furry ginger decided to wedge himself between the frame and the door hoping someone would pet him. 

"Go away. I don't want to talk to you," she snapped. 

"Hermione please, I'm sorry. I just wanted to check that you were okay," Sirius said, pushing his shoulder against the door. Crookshanks had walked into the room and perched himself on the bed, sulking at being ignored. "I'm fine, and I got my shot. The doctor said I'll be okay tomorrow, then I can finish that damn chandelier," Hermione huffed, stepping back. Sirius took a step inside, but seeing Hermione's lifted chin made him reconsider coming closer. "We don't have to finish it tomorrow, it's no problem..." he began. 

"That's not an option. The party is in a few days, and it needs to be up before the caterers come in. God, Blaise Zabini would split in half laughing at me. No, I'm finishing it tomorrow and then I will stay out of your way," she said. The finality was in her voice, Sirius could hear. Only an act of god would sway it. 

Or perhaps a white flag waved in truce would work. 

"Hermione, I didn't come here to make you feel worse. I need your help with something," he said. A silence stretched out between them, vast and uneasy. 

"What with? I can't imagine there's anything I can help you with, you know how to do it all," she replied, meaning every drop of sarcasm. Pettiness was a new taste to Hermione, and it was one that she was slowly discovering she liked. 

"I deserved that. Truly, I did. I should not have laughed at you. I didn't think it was mean until you left me at Saint Mungo's, and now I know that I shouldn't have even started."

"I'm sorry for making you feel bad instead of helping you. And now I feel like even more of an ass for asking you to help me with something." It wasn't perfect by means of an apology, but if it got her to follow him downstairs then it will have worked. 

"Can Kreacher do it?"

"He's not very pleased with me at the moment. I can see whose side he's taken on this. Unlike with you, I have to earn his being nice to me," Sirius shrugged. 

Hermione let herself savour the begging in his voice before giving in. "I feel like you won't leave it until I say yes, so all right. What do you need?"

"Come downstairs with me," Sirius said, taking her by the wrist and walking with her out the door. 

Hermione allowed herself to be led to where the chandelier lay among its final few pieces.   
"Why am I here?," she asked. 

Sirius picked up the screwdriver and gently nudged Hermione into a chair. "I want you to tell me how to finish this," he said.

Now she was truly confused. "I said I'd do it, and there isn't much left to finish anyway - "

"I know. You also know that I can do this with my eyes closed. But I'm telling you now, I need your help." Sirius said. 

He wasn't wrong about this. In the time it had taken to convince her to follow him down he could have finished it and polished off a few glasses of scotch in the comfortable silence of his library. 

Hermione honestly wasn't sure what was going on, but she was sure there was an apology in there somewhere. 

"You can put that down Sirius, I'm finishing that tomorrow," she said, rising up to stand next to him. He was forming a protest when she stopped him. "I need to finish this myself. When the chandelier goes up I want to be able to say that I did it. That's the story I want to share with our friends." 

"But you're hurt. And I'd really rather you not be within reach of that screwdriver while you're still mad at me," he added, trying to make her smile. 

Oh sod it, the man knew just how to weaken her ire. 

"It wouldn't be unwarranted," she mumbled at him. 

"I know. And I'm sorry. I should be less of an ass. You should know that you are the most capable person that we all know, despite stabbing yourself in the hand. Nobody would think any less of you," he said, coming closer to hold her injured hand. The bandage wrapped around the palm was lightly stained red, but he lifted it to his lips and kissed it once. Just a little kiss, like the ones you gave a scraped knee. 

He didn't miss how her breath caught in her throat. Acting purely on instinct, he moved her arm a little bit so his lips brushed the pulse in her wrist. 

"Sirius," he heard her inhale before she pulled her hand back. His eyes flicked up to meet hers, jarred by the sudden movement. 

"I think it's time to say goodnight. I'll see you in the morning," she pushed out before turning around and disappearing to her bedroom. Her abrupt departure left Sirius with an ache that he didn't even know was throbbing in his chest. 

Capable my ass, he thought. That woman is downright disarming.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Good lord. It's been more than a year since the last chapter. I've resolved to write more this year, no matter how little of it I can do in whatever time I can squeeze in.
> 
> Considering that this story first started nearly six years ago, it will be interesting to see how much Sirius and Hermione as we knew them have grown up and moved forward. Many thanks to everyone who has stayed on to find out what happens next. Trust me, I'm there with you too.
> 
> Let's go!

Two days before the party. 

“Perhaps Miss would like another color?”

Two well-trimmed ears quivered at Hermione’s waist as she inspected herself in front of the mirror. An elf was watching her in the lacy pink confection she had thrust at a protesting Hermione. “Pink and lace? Just one, not both please!” she had begged.

“Nothing wrong with trying!” the elf, named Babs, squeaked back at her. This was two dresses ago. 

“I don’t mind the lace Babs, but maybe something less....rosy?” Hermione asked, careful not to hint at her aversion to such a frivolous shade. Navy blues, deep violets and the most delicate of yellows made up the bulk of her wardrobe. 

“Miss needs to trust me, pink is definitely her color,” Babs said, ears now quirked back, not unlike a peeved cat. Before Hermione could form a response, the elf hopped out of the room and into the back. Presumably, to grab yet another dress. It was a quiet Thursday afternoon on Diagon Alley after all, and Hermione had been the only customer in the store in the last hour and a half. 

It had been a week since her trip to the hospital and the too-intimate kiss that Sirius had pressed into her skin. Their eyes had locked for the briefest of moments, and she swore that she could feel her lips begin to form words she could never take back. But just as mist is fleeting before you can truly see it, she felt herself bolt past him and shut the door. Her heart was strumming in her chest, and it was a truly long time before she let herself sleep. 

They had been so damned cordial ever since. No longer did Sirius tell her to “pass the motherfucking milk” at breakfast, nor was Kreacher’s chicken casserole the “hippogriff’s tits”. They spoke like a married couple from the 18th century, with the intimacy to match. Neither of them wanted to examine this new thing between them; just acknowledging it was there was hard enough. 

The dress shop had proven an effective distraction. With almost military precision, Sirius had made sure there was barely anything left to do this close to the party. He had taken care of food, invitations and decorations. He’d even enough time to source a chocolate fountain. A great big one, he said with a smug grin. Hermione could only hope that a burlesque dancer would not pop out of the middle. 

As for the grand chandelier, Hermione had done the best she could and magicked a big curtain over the fixture. It would come off in two days to reveal the whole thing, hopefully accompanied by a few oohs and aahs.

Some of Sirius’ drama was starting to rub off on her, she found herself thinking. Now that there was nothing much left to do, Hermione knew that she needed to find a similarly dazzling outfit if she was going to help host this thing. 

“Miss will like this one!” Babs squeaked. Hermione glanced at the filmy lather of silk and lace in the elf’s arms, ready to politely refuse. The turndown was on her lips, but the way the light caught at the old rose fabric stopped it from leaving.

Smartly, deftly, Babs laced Hermione into the dress. “Yes. This is it,” Babs nodded, ears wagging up and down. There was a pleased tilt to her chin, one that Hermione didn’t see with the other dresses. 

It was still pink, but nothing that a child would pick for themselves. It was a grown-up, ballroom dancing and cocktails pink. The French lace collar extended down to the back, where it opened up to a wide V that ended right above her hips. It was simply breathtaking. 

“Aah, Miss is quiet. She likes it too,” Babs grinned. “Babs, this is so beautiful. I’ve never worn anything like this before,” Hermione said, turning around to look at her reflection in the mirror. The light caught all the right spots, making her complexion look healthy and glowing. The close cut of the dress made sure that she wouldn’t blend into one of the flower arrangements she knew Sirius had ordered for the evening. 

“I don’t know what else to say. I love it!” she said, giving herself a final twirl around the dressing room.

A bronzed smoky eye and a nude lip would top this all off, Hermione mused as the dress disappeared into a paper shopping bag. Babs handed her the parcel with a big smile. “Miss will be the center of attention, I promise,” she said. That kind of positive confidence was enchanting, and Hermione couldn’t help but grin back. “I’ll do my very best Babs, thank you for being so patient.” 

Meanwhile, in yet another room of the sprawling 12 Grimmauld Place, Sirius was holding court with Blaise Zabini and his gaggle of assistants. The impeccably-dressed planner was dictating instructions to nobody in particular, but the scratch of quills was thick in the air. 

“Check that we have enough napkins on hand to wipe down several small toddlers. God knows how clumsy tuna tartare can be. And while you’re at it, make sure we also have alka seltzer. I’ll bet you anything Ronald Weasley will be the first to spill something,” he said.

“Do we have enough crystal in the house?” Sirius absentmindedly asked, ticking items off his own list. 

Blaise arched a brow. “You could host a dinner party for a small country and still have enough to serve champagne for half the country next door,” he huffed. 

“All right, just asking. I feel like there’s something missing, but I can’t put my finger on it…,” Sirius said, flipping pages back and forth over his clipboard. 

“Everyone out,” Blaise ordered his staff. In an instant, not unlike a well-oiled machine, each assistant folded their clipboards under their arms and filed out of the room. Sirius glanced up to catch the last one leaving, turning on their heels and shutting the door behind them. 

He looked questioningly at Blaise, who was rubbing the bridge of his nose right between his eyes. He let out a dramatic sigh, and then swept around to face Sirius. 

“I feel I must be perfectly blunt with you Mr Black. It’s been grating on my nerves ever since we decided on the menu several weeks ago,” Blaise started. 

“Then I think you need to let it off your chest,” Sirius shrugged, trying to seem indifferent. To be honest, he was starting to feel dread pool in his stomach. For all the extravagant excess of Blaise’s personality, Sirius knew that he noticed far more than he let on. They had seen each other nearly every day in the last week tying up loose ends for the party. Sirius was absolutely positive that Blaise could sense the effort he was putting in was only to keep himself busy. 

Anything to keep his mind off that evening of the almost-kiss, as he had come to call it. It had taken up residence among every waking thought he had, and it was starting to interfere with day to day tasks. He found himself using words like please and thank you around her, and even he knew how fucking weird that was. What he really wanted, was to kick down Hermione’s bedroom door and have his way with her until please and thank you were all she was able to say. 

Distraction needed to take as many forms as it could, and in a stroke of rashness, he’d ordered a comically huge chocolate fountain for the evening.

Blaise had had a conniption then. A real, honest-to-goodness fit that would have made Mrs Black proud. 

The planner paced back and forth, letting the scolding come. “This company exists because I am able to execute a vision that not even my clients realized they had. I am especially proud of the fact that I can accommodate requests, however tacky, and merge them with something that leaves jaws on the actual floor.” 

A quick breath. “Now I was not happy about that chocolate fountain. But it’s been done. No use crying over spilled butterbeer. What I cannot accept, cannot abide is that there is a giant, covered piece of something in the middle of the ballroom and you refuse to show me what it is. I do not like surprises Mr Black, not unless I am the one giving them. “ he finished with a huff.

Sirius didn’t move for half a moment, waiting for more. When nothing else came, he slowly got up and did his best to tower over a glowering Blaise, only just succeeding. “Nobody has ever spoken to me like that, and I’m sure I do not care for it,” he said in a quiet voice. The gloves were on, and the haughty aristocrat was out. “And I’m sure that the deposit I put down did not cover this kind of disrespect,” 

Blaise was not so much intimidated as he was veritably turned on. This was exactly the kind of man that appealed to him, and he suddenly had one in front of him. God, he was turning into his mother, he thought. 

He opened his mouth to respond when the older man cut him off. “There is a crystal chandelier underneath that curtain, that is all you need to know,” Sirius said, in the lowest of voices. 

Suddenly, a moment of clarity. “Is that what Granger was putting together?” in a surprised voice that caught even himself off-guard. The image of that bushy-haired swot kneeling on the floor surrounded by bits of crystal and metal wove up from his memory. “If it’s anything like how she dresses I’m not surprised you’ve decided to cover it up.” 

In hindsight, Sirius thought that his reaction to that flippant remark was what gave it away. “That’s Miss Granger to you, as long as you are in this house. And yes, that is what she was putting together, rather splendidly as well. I believe that is all you need to know, and all that you need to do what I overpaid you and your company to do,” he snapped, tossing his stack of notes onto his desk. 

Silence yawned between them both. “Well I’ll be damned. You’re interested in her aren’t you? Blaise said, tilting his head to the side. 

“You really have no filter, do you?” Sirius bit out, more to keep himself in check than to chide. Blaise perched himself onto the side of an armchair, legs crossed. “I’m afraid not. I didn’t get to where I am playing coy,” he said. “So do tell. Do you think she knows?” 

It was infuriating, but it was either kick the man out or go insane keeping his thoughts to himself. “I don’t think she’d have me even if she knew. She’s far too smart for that,” he sighed, turning towards the sideboard for a bowl of chocolate covered raisins, a treat he had to hide from Hermione. “Raisin?” he asked. 

Blaise waved an indifferent hand. “No thank you, I think someone needs to be sober for this delightful exchange.”

“As nauseating as this is for me to say, Miss Granger certainly does not deserve someone who thinks chocolate fountains are at the height of sophistication. But she isn’t as astute as you believe she is,” 

“Well she’s already done the right thing, leaving me alone in this house with you all afternoon,” Sirius shot back 

“Believe me, there are an indefinite number of things I would rather be doing instead of defending Miss Know It All,” Blaise said, allowing a heated gaze to rake over Sirius’ form. Whether Sirius noticed or not, he didn’t show it. “I might have pissed her off a week ago. She hasn’t spoken to me since. There was a moment...but it never got further than that. And now I actually don’t know what to do. What a mess,” he muttered. 

“Did you somehow manage to insult her prodigious intelligence?” Blaise asked, without much time to think at all. 

Sirius tried to form a defense, but Blaise just kept going. “I should have known. That is the one thing she holds dearer above anything else, and you managed to knock it out of her hands. She must be absolutely splenetic at you,” 

“To be fair, she’s been that way since school. I had the misfortune of having the same Ancient Runes class as her, and she has never quite recovered from me correcting a translation in front of everybody else.”

Sirius wisely kept his mouth shut, knowing that anything else he said can and would be used against him. “What do you suggest I do then? We can’t exactly host this thing if we’re not at least civil with each other,” he asked. 

“I should charge you extra for this, but I am feeling benevolent today,” Blaise started, leaning back further into the chair. “Normally I would suggest picking out a big and shiny piece of jewelry but I’m afraid it would cause more damage the bigger it is. She’s got a decent throwing arm, if Ronald Weasley is to be believed.” 

“Groveling doesn’t impress women like her. It would everyone else, but she would want her pound of flesh from you. Or pound of grey matter, however you want to look at it,” Blaise continued, starting to relish the look of rapt attention Sirius had on his face. The man was smitten, and it was absolutely devastating to know that it wasn’t with him. Still, he was not without his decencies and he was going to milk every moment he could out of this. 

“I suggest appealing to the part of her that she doesn’t seem to listen to very often,” he said, leaning forward and raising an eyebrow to drive the point home. 

Sirius didn’t reply, not knowing whether this was advice or a come on. At this point, he couldn’t safely guess which it was, and neither was he going to proceed without being absolutely sure. 

“So modest. Mr Black, even I know that you are not without your talents in certain rooms of the house. Use those to win her over, let’s see if that doesn’t warm her up to you slightly. Then you can think about actually apologizing to her,”. 

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have better things to do than to help out a rival for your affections. That ghastly ballroom is not going to decorate itself,” Blaise said, uncoiling himself from out of the chair and collecting his things. 

“Blaise, look…” Sirius began when he was cut off. “If or when you find yourself rather alone underneath that chandelier in two nights, you’ll be sure to send an owl snappish yes?” Blaise purred, brushing another heated look over Sirius before showing himself out the door. 

Sirius was left speechless, first wondering how so much coquetry had been packaged into a single man. He certainly was not wrong and he should have known to think of it himself first. 

So it is, he mused, popping another raisin into his mouth. The great Sirius Black was going to have one more item to check off his list, and it promised to be far more exciting than anything involving crystal or fountains of any sort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Guess who stopped by for a quick chat! Blaise, the snarky and sexy drama queen we love is back! I'm going to do my very best to keep this updated, because I also want to see where these two end up.
> 
> Love and hugs, M xx


End file.
